Thnks Fr Th Mmrs
by cxaxelxaxe
Summary: How did Sirius leave home, anyways? One take. Titled for Fall Out Boy's single. Not really the greatest fanfiction, but written at 1:00 A.M. Oneshot.


A/N: Sorry, it's not that great, very rambling and confusing. Well hell, I wrote it in the wee hours of the night.

* * *

_TOO MUCH._

He had done worse. He had bent it, broke it, right over his knee, like all the needless beatings… years before.

Poor boy didn't catch on at first, but Sirius Black had been delivered into Number 12, Grimmauld Place without wings.

With wings, rather; he had always had too good a heart, too good a heart of gold.

So he had snapped it- God, he had snapped himself.

And sometimes when he was little- well, little but not innocent, not any longer. After that revelation. As he put his fingers to the keys, learning sickly sweet what all little Black boys learned, he wondered- did that God, the God those filthy Muggles spoke of? Would he ever show one day? Show to _save_ him.

But it was too goddamn late now.

"Let the good times roll," he whispered aloud, to the empty and desolate street, as he limped along in the snow.

_Oh, to hell with it._**"LET THE GOOD TIMES ROLL!" **and it echoed back to him: _roll, roll, roll, roll._

It wasn't like he cared.

The fight earlier that day had been impressive.

Beginning of Winter vacation, it was, and Sirius had happened to have a relationship with a Muggle-born student. Broke it off; like all his relationships, it was going nowhere. Little Regulus, of course, thought more of it.

He came up the stairs of the hellish house into the scorching, seething eyes of his mother. She started low, her voice rising to a scream: "Am I to hear it that YOU have been romantically associating with a MUDBLOOD?"

So much for the holidays.

For a time, on the train home, Sirius had dared to wonder. What if it was just a happy family he came from? Perhaps he would be a typical pureblood, despising all people so-called lower than he. Maybe it would be his family that was different- they would be loving, caring, perhaps?

Sirius couldn't imagine himself changing- so he had started back at his mother with the intention to use his words to make things _right._ His right, his, not hers, not anyone's- HIS!

The wrong's he had apparently did just made the words come to life and attack back viciously before the final split…

"What if you accepted the fact that Muggles are human beings as are the rest of his," Sirius spat in a low tone. "That maybe we aren't so high and mighty as you think. Believe it or not, the Blacks aren't esteemed as you like to believe. What if I lived in a proper family?"

"And what if you accepted the fact you a dreadful disgrace. I wish that somehow you would have never been born, child… we could do much better with a spirit of you." Mrs. Black had her wand out long ago, and a hex sent Sirius thumping down the stairs. The fact was, if you lived in Grimmauld Place for any amount of time, sooner or later, you were going to fall down the many stairs. So Sirius, rolling like a log, went down and down and down all the stairs, his mother marching behind like a wrathful statue- utterly cold, utterly hateful, unfortunately alive. Sirius came to rest at the grand piano.

He stared at the underside of the piano he had been tortured into learning years before; all the while, a relative would drone on by his side about the traditions and importance of purebloods. This was tolerable. The speeches Sirius couldn't bear were the ones about "the other side," the ones that would supposedly be better off dead. And ironically, a decade later, the same speech, the same piano.

So yes, Sirius snapped.

He rose gracefully the floor, not a bump from the musical instrument he had been trapped under. "Mother, mother." Sirius said. He began to speak, a memory from long ago…

"'Better put your fingers back to the keys, boy. Remember who you are, boy, and where you stand. There will be people who will give you love, and people whom you will not glance at; for they are not worthy of you. Remember your blood… 'Toujours pur.'" And then, Sirius began to play.

Mrs. Black approached furiously; simultaneously Sirius' calm demeanor dissolved. The magic of a powerful sixteen-year-old boy suddenly shot out to cover the beautiful ivory keys of the piano in black scorches. Sirius brought his knee painfully into the piano. With an extra burst of magic, it burst into two and into flames. Sirius turned heel and fled out a door that was open, just for him.

Now here he was. Limping down the road. Talking to himself. "Thanks for the memories, even though they weren't so great. They weren't great at all."

Sirius saw a bird flitting along; and suddenly, a powerful, lusty, rage-

_HOW DARE IT? TO FLIT ALONG? TO BE SO INNOCENT, SO LOVED? _And the terrible desire rose in him to _KILL-_

Oh, it was a bird.

Sirius suddenly stopped walking and lay down in the middle of the street, in the snow. No dangers were present at the mid of night- well, murderers, thieves, and family. But Sirius could handle them.

Sirius decided to reflect on love- familial, brotherly, romantic…

What was love?

Part of Sirius cried at him, telling him the answer- the answer was to march up to that Muggle-born, to rip away her clothes- leave her naked and then-

And part said it was the gentle touch of falling snow, a nest together.

Was it having caring parents? Parents that loved you, and told you how proud they were at your accomplishments, how upset at your mistakes. It seemed stupid when you had it, but brilliant when you didn't.

Sirius had, without realizing it, wandered into an alley, getting up from his position on the street. He faced a wall, the cool bricks. He wanted to look forward to what he could do now, but all he could see was the past.

Sirius began punching the bricks, over, and over, and over. So rhythmic and simple. He took up the mantra as well: "Thanks for the memories. Thanks for the memories. Thanks for the memories."

He didn't know how long he stood there, feeling so alone in the world. Not to know that-

_Lily Evans was crying at a bad breakup, and wondering, why couldn't she just love Potter? Why did she have to suit others and say she hated him? Why were these expectations._

_Severus Snape- sixteen and yet under the rule of his despicable father. Beaten, again. She was too beaten, again._

_Regulus Black, sniffling in a far corner of the house- where had it all gone wrong? Floors below, parents staring at the wreckage of a once-grand piano, wondering the same thing._

_So many people…_

Sirius Black woke up in grey snow in an alley, with tinges of red surrounding him- from his battered knuckles. He got up, head clear as day. Where was he going?

_Why, James Potter's house of course._

Sirius walked out of his own life into another, cheerful as could be.

_Just enough?_


End file.
